She usually stayed home during the moon instead of the den, trusting her uncle's chains and barred doors to keep her in line. Girl has been lulled into security by the familiarity because he kept telling her home much calmer she was than her father before her during the change and there in lay her mistake. There was something about the night that made her restless and pushing past the clumsily barred doors proved easy when she really tried.

London streets were different in wolf form, everything sharper and infinitely more interesting with the threads of smells she's never noticed before. For a while she's content to sniff around garbage and chase strays, but then she catches the scent of something familia; vague in the way her mind half connects it to someone she knows and intimately so in how it screams fellow wolf.

She follows quietly, remembering with puppy-like glee how much fun it is to track something. That is, until she begins to catch on to where the wolf is heading. When Johanna stops, she surges forward and jumps, landing heavy to get Johanna's attention. Girl snorts, shaking her head in the direction of the awful dead smell. 'Not there', she's trying to say.